


Ties that Bind

by antonomasia09



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren Being an Asshole, Bullying, Crossover, Force-Sensitive Shiro (Voltron), Gen, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Jedi Allura (Voltron), Jedi Shiro (Voltron), Parent-Child Relationship, Pilot Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Stormtrooper Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-10 08:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antonomasia09/pseuds/antonomasia09
Summary: After getting shot down and captured by the First Order, Resistance pilot Shiro meets a stormtrooper called Keith, who claims to know the location of the mythical Jedi Master Allura.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is entirely alyyks' fault. My eternal thanks to her for cheerleading, beta reading, answering a million Star Wars questions, and yelling about how terrible Ben Solo is.

_Sixteen Years Ago_

Breakfast was always stressful for Shiro. Lunch was fine, eating in the cafeteria with friends; and dinner was a sort of free-for-all grab whatever you like and eat it where you please; but Senator Organa always insisted on starting the day with her family around her. Which meant that, when Ben was home on breaks from the Jedi Academy, Shiro needed to ignore the way his food wouldn’t stay on his fork, or the way his drinks would tip over to spill on him, and hope that if he didn’t react then Ben would get tired of his stupid pranks and stop.

This was a particularly bad morning. Ben and the Senator were fighting again, already. Shiro wasn’t sure about what - Ben’s grades, maybe, or the fight he’d gotten into yesterday with one of the neighbors. He tuned them out, and focused on finishing his meal.

He was supposed to go on a field trip today. The instructors were taking his class to see the Air and Space Museum, and Shiro had heard that there were starfighters there that dated back to the Clone Wars. He was itching to see inside the cockpit of the Aethersprite-class light interceptor flown by Obi-Wan Kenobi himself.

It was a bad time to ask, Shiro knew, but Senator Organa had been busy with Senate business every night for an entire week, and if Shiro didn’t get signed permission from his legal guardian this morning, he wasn’t going to be able to see the spaceships.

He waited until Ben had stormed off before slipping the flimsi out of his backpack and handing it and a pen wordlessly to Senator Organa, who was staring after Ben and looking exhausted. She read it over and smiled at him. “Looks like you’re going to have a fun day today, Takashi,” she said, signing her name and passing the flimsi and pen back to Shiro.

“Thank you,” he said politely. “I hope you do as well.”

She sighed dramatically. “Budget hearings and committee nominations. Sometimes I miss the war - at least then, it felt like the paperwork mattered.” Senator Organa glanced down at the chrono on her wrist, and then made shooing motions at Shiro. “Go on, you’re going to be late.”

“Thank you,” he said again, and headed for the door, stuffing his pen and permission slip back into his backpack as he went.

Which meant that Ben, lurking around a corner, took him completely by surprise.

Shiro’s backpack, pen, and flimsi went flying as an invisible force shoved Shiro against the wall and held him there. He struggled against it, but there was nothing to push against, just the air keeping him in place. “Ben,” he tried, and the nothingness pressed against his throat, threatening to cut off his air. Shiro stopped talking.

Ben bent over to pick up the flimsi. “The golden boy who never does anything wrong,” he sneered. “Who gets permission to go on field trips while I’m stuck at home, not allowed to go out and see my friends until I’ve come up with some banthashit plan to ‘improve my attitude.’” Ben pressed his hand against the flimsi and glared at it. Within seconds, the acrid scent of burning plastic was making Shiro’s eyes tear.

“No,” he cried, and then choked as the force against his neck squeezed.

Ben let the burnt pieces of flimsi flutter to the floor, and pressed his face up against Shiro’s. “You’re not a part of this family, _Shirogane_ ,” he said. “She’s not your mother, and you don’t get to pretend like she is. Do you understand me?”

Shiro couldn’t nod, couldn’t do anything but make a muffled sound that he hoped Ben took as agreement, as his tears continued to spill.

“Good,” Ben said, then added, “If you tell her about this, I’ll make you wish you had died along with your parents.”

He abruptly released Shiro, who collapsed to the ground, and swept off.

Shiro reached out a shaking hand to collect the charred remains of his permission slip. It was illegible now, no way to salvage it. He put it into his backpack anyway, and scrubbed at his face, then staggered to his feet. He was going to have to run, if he wanted to make it to school on time.

***

_Present Day_

Shiro checked the chronometer on his X-wing’s nav computer for a rendezvous estimate. Two minutes until the convoy was due to arrive and Blue Squadron would hand off escort duties.

He tapped the comm to get his own squadron’s attention. “T minus two minutes,” he announced. “As always, keep the skies clear. Remember, your first priority is making sure the convoy reaches its destination safely. It’s carrying supplies vital to the survival of the Resistance, including food that’s not just nutrient paste, so consider that your incentive.”

There were some chuckles over the comm. Shiro loosened his grip on his stick and forced himself to relax his shoulders. Calm and steady, even breaths. No point being tense when the convoy’s journey so far had been uneventful, no sign the First Order even knew it existed. There was a nebulous bad feeling in the back of Shiro’s mind; he pushed it away. He had confidence in himself and in his team to handle anything they might encounter.

At exactly the two minute mark, the head of the convoy poked its way into the narrow winding canyon that Shiro’s team would guide it through, and the comm crackled to life.

“One convoy, delivered to you safe and sound,” Lance declared. “Don’t lose it,” he added.

Shiro snorted. “Copy, Blue Leader,” he said. “Tell General Organa we’ll be home soon.” He switched channels. “Okay, Black Squadron. Our turn.”

His team sounded off in acknowledgement, and Shiro launched his X-wing from the cliffside he’d been perched on. The others followed suit. They flew low, hoping to avoid unwanted attention, criss-crossing in a well-practiced flight pattern to maximize coverage.

For the first hour, nothing happened. Shiro let himself get lulled by the familiar maneuvering, and when Rizavi started bickering with Griffin on the group channel, he allowed it to continue for a few minutes before laughingly ordering them to cut the chatter. The bad feeling was still making his neck itch, but Shiro ignored it.

And then the ground directly beneath Shiro exploded in flames. He pulled up, hard, just barely avoiding the plume of fire.

Shiro twisted in his seat and looked around frantically to find multiple bogies approaching from all directions. Their energy signatures must have been masked somehow because only _now_ they were finally appearing on radar, too little too late.

“Flight pattern Delta C,” Shiro barked over the comm, then banked sharply to avoid a shot from a TIE fighter that appeared out of nowhere to his left. Delta C was distraction and evasion; keep the enemy focused on Black Squadron, while avoiding taking casualties if possible.

Shiro threw his X-wing into a barrel roll to avoid another shot, then pulled back firmly on the stick, gaining a little altitude while he frantically tried to come up with a plan. According to his radar, there were about a dozen TIE fighters in the canyon, versus the five members of Black Squadron, but he wasn’t sure he could trust his instruments. Besides, even if they were accurate, those weren’t the greatest odds.

Time to even them out a little. Shiro continued to climb, spinning to avoid target lock from the two TIE fighters that broke off to chase him. He didn’t need to break atmo, just needed to get enough distance… there. A smooth loop put him behind and below his pursuers, and Shiro took them out with two precise shots before they could turn around.

“I’ve got an eyeball on my tail I can’t shake,” Kinkade said over the comm, his voice betraying only the slightest hint of tension.

“Bank right fifteen degrees and hold steady,” Leifsdottir told him. “Lieutenant Shirogane?”

Shiro nodded. “Perfect, thank you,” he said. He dove, waited for Kinkade to dart past, and then leveled out abruptly, just in time to blast the TIE fighter following behind.

“Thanks,” Kinkade said.

“Anytime,” Shiro replied. He glanced down at the convoy. It was still making its way slowly through the canyon, no sign of damage. Either his team was being an excellent distraction, or the enemy pilots had orders to take care of the escorts before turning their attention on the supplies. If it was the second, then the First Order was very confident in their ability to get rid of Shiro’s team. There were likely reinforcements lying in wait just in case the first wave didn’t succeed.

“Rizavi,” he said. “Go scout ahead. See if you can find any sign of more First Order troops.”

“Roger that,” she said and put on a burst of speed the TIE fighters couldn’t hope to match.

Shiro looked around again and reassessed. Griffin and Rizavi had each taken out two TIE fighters, in addition to Shiro’s three, leaving only five. Much better odds.

“Griffin, Kinkade,” Shiro said. “Scissor pattern. Let Leifsdottir direct you. See if you can’t get…”

He never finished the sentence, as his right wing disintegrated into a mess of sparks and twisted metal, and his X-wing began plummeting towards the ground. Shiro gritted his teeth and jerked on the stick, trying to level out of the dizzying spin he was stuck in, but it was no use. He looked up to see another dozen TIE fighters engaging the remains of his squadron, and his heart sank faster than his ship. They didn’t stand a chance.

The ground was fast approaching. Ejecting now would be suicide. At least the damaged X-wing had some drag to slow his descent; if he ejected, odds were he would smash straight into the canyon wall. Shiro ducked his head and covered it as best he could, and waited for the inevitable impact.

***

Shiro woke up on a table. Not entirely surprising, given what he remembered of the crash - the Resistance’s supply of bacta was low, so they tended to use it to heal just the bare minimum for survival, and then bandage or splint and let the body take care of the rest on its own. There were a handful of medics to Shiro’s left, turned away from him and whispering amongst themselves. He didn’t think he recognized any of them, but the room was dark and it was hard to tell.

There was no sign of his team, and Shiro tried very hard not to think about what that meant. Maybe he just wasn’t allowed visitors yet, and they were waiting right outside the door.

Shiro tried to sit up, and realized his arms were strapped down, as were his ankles. What was going on? It couldn’t be that he’d been moving as they tried to treat him; he’d been unconscious, and besides, everything hurt too much.

And then one of the medics leaned over him, and Shiro got a good look at the logo on their uniform. His breath caught. First Order. He wasn’t with the Resistance at all.

Shiro began to struggle against the restraints. The placement of the ones on his arms was odd; it felt like there were more on the left, although his right arm didn’t seem to be responding to commands. He looked down at it, uncomprehending. 

His right arm was missing, from about midway above the elbow. The end was neatly capped off with bandages. As Shiro twisted and tried to get free, the bandages soaked through with red.

He screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t breathe and his throat was raw, and then when he tried to get air to scream again, a medic placed something over his mouth and fastened it in place, locking his jaw shut. Shiro tried to scream anyway, but it came out muffled, and his lungs were burning.

“Hero of the Resistance, eh?” a voice said from somewhere behind him. Shiro stilled. “Best pilot Commander Holt has ever seen.” The voice was distorted and mechanical, but Shiro knew it.

Ben Solo moved around the table to stand by Shiro’s left shoulder. In robes and a face mask, he was nearly unrecognizable from the boy Shiro had grown up with, but the sullenness rolling off him in waves was unmistakable. Shiro glared up at him.

“You were always more popular than me, better at games, faster in school,” Ben continued. “And yet, here we are. Me with an army, protégé of Supreme Leader Snoke himself. And you, strapped to a table, waiting for me to extract every last bit of information about the Resistance that resides in your brain.”

Shiro felt nine years old again, pinned and silenced, and just as powerless now as he was then. He couldn’t see Ben’s expression behind the mask, but he could tell he was smirking.

“By the way, the medics say that the way your arm was damaged, your body won’t accept a prosthetic. You’re never going to fly again. Not that you’re getting out of here alive anyway.”

Ben was lying. He had to be, right? Shiro couldn’t help glancing down at the stump of his right arm. It looked… okay, it looked really bad, deep cuts that turned Shiro’s stomach running all the way up to his shoulder, but he’d seen bacta work miracles. Surely the Resistance would spare enough for him for that.

“You’re replaceable,” Ben said, reading his thoughts, or maybe just guessing their general direction. “Just another pilot. You think that because you’re so good at it, because you’re close with General Organa, that she’ll send a rescue mission. You’re wrong. She doesn’t care about you. You’re going to die here, her real son killing the imposter, and isn’t that poetic?”

Shiro shook his head. He was shivering, and couldn’t seem to stop.

Ben chuckled, the sound made even more sinister by the mask’s resonance. “I have some things to take care of, and there’s no need to hurry with you. I’ll be back soon to start your interrogation. In the meantime, think about what I said.”

That last command sounded like it was coming at Shiro doubly, both in his ears and straight into his brain. He jerked in his restraints, wanting to wipe himself clean of the dark sludge that accompanied it. Ben laughed again, and then swept out the door, followed by most of the medics.

Shiro needed to think about something else, anything else. The Force compulsion made it difficult, as did the whole situation, but he focused on calming his breathing, picturing the step pyramids rising out of the lush jungle on Yavin 4. When Ben came back, he would be ready. He wouldn’t give up any Resistance secrets.

Now that the shock had worn off, his arm was beginning to throb. The bandage had completely soaked through, and blood was starting to pool beneath it and trickle down the sides of the table to drip gently onto the floor.

The remaining medic picked up a hypospray and came towards Shiro, who tried again to get away. He made a frantic noise through the muzzle as the medic held the hypospray to his neck, and pulled back as far as he could, but the medic put a firm hand on his head to hold him in place and squeezed the trigger.

Shiro winced, expecting a burning venom in his bloodstream or the descending hazy fog of a sedative. Instead, he felt… better? His overall soreness, minor in comparison to the agony of his arm, was now almost gone, and even that pain now felt manageable. There was a lingering headache, but Shiro could ignore it.

The medic raised Shiro’s head just enough to reach around behind it and undo the clasps holding the muzzle in place. “Stay quiet,” he warned Shiro as he pulled it away.

Shiro worked his jaw for a moment, then licked his lips. “What did you give me?” he asked.

“A mild analgesic,” the medic replied. He unwrapped the bandages with quick, steady motions, and Shiro looked away, not ready to see what was underneath. Deep breaths. The sunset on Hosnian Prime. The grassy plains of Maridun, stalks swaying gently in the breeze.

The medic wound fresh gauze around the stump, and then reached underneath the table and fiddled with something. A moment later, Shiro’s restraints snapped open.

For a moment, Shiro just lay there, confused and wary. But when the medic didn’t call for any stormtroopers, just turned away and started putting equipment back on shelves, Shiro slowly sat up. “Are you with the Resistance?” he asked, hope finally beginning to bloom.

“I am an undercover operative,” the medic answered. “You can call me Ulaz.”

“Why are you helping me? Ben was right, I’m nothing special. Certainly not worth you risking your operation here.”

“You’re lucky, is what you are,” Ulaz said. “One of my informants has recently come into possession of a vital piece of intelligence, and is worried that he may soon be compromised. If a prisoner were to escape, especially one that Kylo Ren has taken a personal interest in, that would provide enough distraction for my informant to disappear, and hopefully not be noticed for some time.

“We can’t risk his information falling into the hands of the First Order; it concerns the whereabouts of the Jedi Allura, believed to have been dead for many years. If they get control of her power, they will be unstoppable. You must ensure that the Resistance gets to her first.”

_Allura_ \- Shiro knew that name. His parents, pilots in the Rebel Alliance against the Empire, had told Shiro stories of the Jedi when he was young. Allura was one of the most powerful Jedi that had ever lived, rivaling Master Yoda or even Anakin Skywalker. If she truly had survived the Purge, she could single-handedly turn the tide of this war.

“How am I going to get away from this base?” Shiro said. “I can’t…” he swallowed. “I can’t fly with one arm.”

“I have taken the liberty of planting some explosive devices in strategic areas around the ship.” Ulaz held up a remote detonator. “Go to the secondary hanger on the lower levels. My informant will be waiting for you there, and will pilot both of you to the nearest Resistance base.”

Shiro nodded and slid off the table, his legs only buckling slightly when they landed on the floor. “Thank you, Ulaz,” he said.

“It is my honor to serve,” Ulaz replied.

“Before I go,” Shiro said, “My team. Do you know what happened to them?”

“There are no other Resistance prisoners aboard this ship,” Ulaz said. “Whether that means they managed to escape pursuit or they were all destroyed, I do not know.”

That wasn’t what Shiro had hoped to hear, but it wasn’t what he’d dreaded either.

“Hurry,” Ulaz said. “My informant won’t wait for you for long.”

“Understood,” Shiro said, and steeled himself to run as Ulaz pressed the button on the detonator and the entire ship began to shake.

***

It turned out Shiro was only able to manage a staggering jog, with a constant threat of sprawling headlong on the floor. Every step he took was more difficult than the last, his headache had returned with a vengeance, and although his right arm was tucked in to his chest, he kept getting flares of agony all the way up through his shoulder. He forced himself onwards.

Fortunately, it seemed like Ulaz’s distraction was working, since there were barely any stormtroopers in the hallways for Shiro to avoid as he made his way to a turbolift and descended into the bowels of the ship.

It was easy to find the hangar bay, even with the majority of Shiro’s brainpower devoted towards keeping him on his feet. All Star Destroyers followed the same basic design, and Shiro had spent hours studying their specs looking for structural weaknesses to exploit from the cockpit of an X-wing. He could navigate them as well as any stormtrooper.

He entered the hangar cautiously, trying to keep himself out of sight of any guards by hiding behind a TIE fighter. There didn’t seem to be anybody there at all, though, not even Ulaz’s informant. Shiro’s stomach dropped as panic flooded through him. Had he taken too long to get here? Did the informant leave without him? If Shiro was stuck on this ship, he was as good as dead.

Shiro held his breath and strained to listen for any sign of movement in the hangar. There, to his left, he thought he heard the scuffle of a boot. He stumbled in that direction, trying to make as little noise as possible in case it wasn’t the informant after all, but it was hard with muscles that would barely obey him.

He passed a row of ships, and then a second, and found nothing. Shiro turned to head back the other way in case he’d missed the informant, and froze. There was a stormtrooper behind him, blaster pointed straight at Shiro’s head.

Shiro willed his legs to keep holding him steady, certain that the stormtrooper would shoot if he made any sudden movement, including falling to the ground. Maybe Shiro should let him. It would be better than being taken to a cell and waiting for Ben to rip apart his mind.

To his shock, though, instead of calling for backup and moving in, the stormtrooper lowered their weapon and removed their helmet to reveal a young man with short-cropped black hair and an intense expression on his face.

“You made it,” he said. “We need to get out of here.” He turned and started walking to a nearby TIE fighter.

Shiro found he was completely rooted to the spot, and all he could do was blink. “You’re the informant?” he blurted out.

The stormtrooper stopped. “Yeah,” he said. “My name is Keith.” He glared at Shiro, as if daring him to dispute that.

“I’m Shiro,” Shiro offered.

“That’s nice,” Keith said. “Now _come on_. Unless you want to get blasted to pieces the moment we launch.”

The pain in Shiro’s head spiked when he moved, and he had to smother a groan, but he managed a step forward, and then another and another. He steadied himself with a shaky hand on the TIE fighter’s wing, and followed it around and then up the ramp that Keith lowered for them. Inside, there was a pilot’s seat and a gunner’s. Shiro headed for the pilot’s automatically before stopping, his face burning with embarrassment.

That only got worse when he realized he couldn’t buckle his safety harness one-handed and needed to ask Keith for help. Keith didn’t comment, just snapped the belts in place quickly and then sat down to do pre-flight checks. Shiro closed his eyes and drifted.

“You ready?” Keith asked, and waited for Shiro to mumble a reply before taking off.

Shiro was slammed into his seat by acceleration too great for the inertial dampers to cope with. He cried out as his wound was torn open again, but Keith didn’t slow down. Stars streaked past, blurring dizzily.

Gradually, the inertial dampers adjusted to Keith’s speed, and Shiro was able to sag forward, gasping. “How many following us?” Keith asked.

Shiro squinted at the targeting computer in front of him, trying to focus on the wavering dots. “At least ten, I think,” he said.

“Feel up to doing any shooting?” Keith asked, not sounding very hopeful.

There was a joystick in front of Shiro’s left hand, with a trigger button on top. Extra buttons and switches on both sides too, which must be for toggling between weapons and adjusting laser intensity - he wouldn’t be able to use those. He blinked, and his vision swam.

“Shooting yes, aiming no.”

“Better than nothing,” Keith said. “I’ll line up the shots, you just pull the trigger.”

“‘kay,” Shiro agreed. He reached out to grip the joystick.

Without warning, Keith dove, and then flipped the TIE fighter upside down, heading straight towards their pursuers. “Now,” he called, the instant they were in range. Shiro thumbed the trigger, and grinned as they flew straight through the burning wreckage. Keith whirled them around an instant later, before the rest of the fighters had even realized what happened, and ordered Shiro to fire again. This time, he blasted three, all neatly lined up.

Shiro was impressed. Keith flew with a confident recklessness, keenly aware of his ship’s abilities and limitations, and with the ability to think in three dimensions that came naturally only to those who had spent their entire lives in space. It was a good thing he was on their side, now. Shiro wondered if he’d ever faced Keith in battle before, and how many Resistance pilots Keith had shot down, and then firmly put a stop to that line of thinking.

Keith continued picking off the TIE fighters one by one, until only a single enemy ship remained. The last one was giving him trouble, though, firing at them any time they came close, and forcing Keith to dodge rather than shoot back.

The blasts were coming too fast, and Keith was tiring. He spun away from one, only to be nearly hit by another, no chance to stop and breathe. And then there was another, too close to evade, and all Shiro could think was _no_. They couldn’t die here; Keith’s intel was too important.

He snarled his defiance to the stars, and reached out his hand as if he could divert the laser beam’s path. And… to his utter shock, he _did_.

Shiro felt the burn in his hand as he deflected the shot to the side. Felt the burn his mind as he reached out with senses he didn’t even know he possessed.

In the frozen moment as both Keith and the First Order pilot watched the laser defy the laws of physics, Shiro pushed the trigger button one last time. The enemy TIE fighter exploded in a brilliant fireball, which sparked again and again on the inside of Shiro’s eyelids as he slumped forwards, his remaining energy completely gone.

The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Keith, awestruck, wondering, “What did you just do?”

***

This time, when Shiro woke in a medbay, there were no restraints, and the room was full of familiar faces. The first ones he noticed were those of his team, crowded around his bed. Griffin, Rizavi, Leifsdottir, and Kinkade, all accounted for and uninjured and arguing loudly amongst themselves.

Shiro winced a little at the volume. He couldn’t really remember how he’d gotten here, his head still ached, and even just opening his mouth felt like it took immense effort, but he managed to call, “Hey, can you keep it down a little? Trying to sleep here.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the voices were back, talking over one another in a garbled unintelligible mess of _are you okay’s_ and _how do you feel's_. Shiro smiled, comforted to know that they were all right.

A hand squeezed his, and he looked down to see General Organa sitting by the foot of his bed, with an expression on her face that he couldn’t decipher. He squeezed back, weakly.

“Okay,” she said to Shiro’s team. “You’ve seen him, and he’s seen you. Now get out of here and let him rest.”

They filed out, grumbling good-naturedly, leaving Shiro alone with General Organa. She moved her chair closer.

“Where’s Keith?” he asked.

“Currently debriefing the admirals on the situation with the First Order and Master Allura. I’ll make sure they let him get down here once he’s done.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t know how to ask his next question, was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but, “My arm?”

General Organa sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The nerve damage is too extensive, and already started healing badly. At this point, even bacta won’t help.”

Shiro had never cried in front of her, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I see,” he said, and if his voice was unsteady, she didn’t comment.

“Are you feeling up to giving your report?” she asked him. “It’s fine if you would rather take some time to rest.”

No, the last thing Shiro needed right now was to be alone with nothing to do other than to think about the fact that he was permanently grounded. “I can do it,” he said.

“The first thing you need to know is that I didn’t give up any Resistance secrets. Ulaz helped me escape before he could actually get started on the interrogation.”

“Before who could get started on the interrogation?”

Shiro took a breath. “Ben,” he said.

She looked like he’d taken a shot at her, and he ducked his head, not wanting to see the devastation he’d caused. “Ben was there?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Shiro said. 

“How did he look?” she asked, and Shiro shouldn’t have been surprised; he knew that, no matter how much affection General Organa may have had for his parents or for him, Ben was her son and she would always love him more than anything. It still stung.

“He looked well.” _Better than me_ , he didn’t say. 

“He’s proud of having an army. Always did like his toy soldiers.” He winced as soon as he said it, but couldn’t bring himself to take it back. Still couldn’t look at the General either, until she reached up and stroked his hair, the way she had done when he was nine and in shock over his parents’ deaths, and now her eyes were wet and it was all too much.

The sob tore its way up and out of his chest, heaving and ugly, and she wrapped him in her arms and let him bury his face in her shoulder until his tears slowed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I failed both of you so badly, and you’re the one who paid the price.”

Shiro shook his head. “It wasn’t you,” he said. “You can’t blame yourself for the things Ben does.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that. But how can I not?”

Shiro pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Ben made his own decisions,” he told her. “Even with parents who loved him and taught him well, he still allowed his anger to control him. That’s not your fault, it’s his.”

She sighed. “Did I teach him well?” she asked. “I was hardly ever there, so busy with Senate business. Maybe all I taught him was that he mattered less to me than a group of bickering politicians.”

“You wished us both sweet dreams every single night until Ben told you to stop because he was too old for it, even if you had to do it over a vid channel,” Shiro said. “No matter how busy you were, you always took a minute to check in and make sure we were okay. And we knew you’d be there in the morning when we woke up.”

Shiro had always appreciated the ritual, the reminder that someone cared if he slept well. He’d missed it when she’d stopped.

General Organa pulled him close again. “Thank you,” she said.

Shiro nodded, and as he continued with his report, she took his left hand and held it tightly.

***

After General Organa left, Shiro dozed for awhile. He startled awake at some point to the feeling of another person in the room, and cast his gaze around frantically until it landed on Keith, standing stiffly near the door. He sagged back.

“Glad to see you made it through your debriefing in one piece,” Shiro said.

Keith frowned. It looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands without a blaster in them. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Never mind,” Shiro said. “It went well?”

“They want confirmation from you that I am who I say I am, but overall, yes.”

Shiro quirked an eyebrow. “And they let you in here by yourself?”

“General Organa made it clear that, if anything were to happen to you, she knows the location of a very hungry sarlacc.”

There was a warmth in Shiro’s chest that he tried his best to squash. He knew she cared — he’d always known that — but that was all. 

“I don’t think either of us needs to worry,” Shiro said. Keith still looked tense, though. “Is there something wrong?” he added.

“When I told the Resistance leaders that you’d used the Force during our escape, they didn’t believe me,” Keith said. “Why is that?”

Shiro found himself once again rendered speechless by Keith. “Um,” he said. “I can’t use the Force. I was tested when I was a kid, and Master Skywalker said I might have some sensitivity, but that’s it.”

“I saw you,” Keith insisted. “I know what it looks like, I’ve seen Kylo Ren do stuff plenty of times. That laser blast was coming at us, and there was nothing I could do, and we should have died. But you saved us.”

Shiro shook his head. The whole escape was hazy, but Shiro knew he couldn’t have done what Keith was saying; Ben had taunted him often when they were younger about his lack of Force abilities. “It wasn’t me. I’m sorry.”

Keith glared at him, his frustration with Shiro obvious, but he didn’t press the issue. “The Resistance leaders put together a team to retrieve Jedi Master Allura,” he said. “We leave tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Shiro said. That was so fast. Of course, it made sense that they would want to find her as quickly as possible, before the First Order did, but Shiro had a bad feeling about the mission that he couldn’t shake, and he knew he needed to be on it. He’d thought he’d have at least a few days to recover before making a case to the top brass as to why they should let him go.

“Good luck,” Shiro offered. He sounded bitter, even to himself, but Keith only thanked him.

After Keith left, Shiro hauled himself out of bed and over to the medbay’s ‘fresher. His face in the mirror was grimy and tired and worryingly pale. He’d lost a lot of blood, he knew, but the medics would have replenished it. His exhaustion felt deeper than that, as if he’d expended some of his very essence, and needed to sleep for a year to recharge.

There wasn’t time for that.

Shiro splashed water on his face, in the hopes of both cleaning it and energizing himself a bit. He wished he had something to wear other than the loose-fitting robe and pants issued to patients after bacta treatment - his outfit was going to make it that much harder to convince the admirals to take his request seriously - but he would make do.

It wasn’t hard to slip out of the medbay and down the base’s corridors. This late in the evening, they were fairly empty. Shiro needed to stop every few steps to blink spots out of his eyes, and the wall was probably taking most of his weight, but he got himself to Commander Iverson’s office, straightened up, and rapped on the door.

It hissed open to reveal Iverson at his desk, squinting at a pile of reports. He looked up, surprised. “Shiro,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you out of bed for a few days yet.”

“I’m feeling fine, sir,” Shiro said. “In fact, I was hoping to go on the mission tomorrow.”

Iverson eyed him, making no effort to hide his skepticism. “You’re barely standing,” he said. “Request denied.”

“I don’t have to be standing in order to ride in a shuttle,” Shiro said. “I’m one of the most experienced field commanders in the Resistance, and for a mission like this, you’re going to need every advantage you’ve got.”

“Yes we do,” Iverson agreed. “And right now, in the state you’re in, you’re not an asset. You’re a liability.”

“Please,” Shiro begged. “I can’t just sit around here, useless, while other people fight and die for our cause.”

“Is that what you think I do?” Iverson said.

“No, sir!” Shiro said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”

“I know you didn’t,” Iverson cut him off. His normally gruff voice grew gentle. “You were hurt, Shiro,” he said. “Give yourself time to heal. Once you’re feeling better, we can discuss what comes next.”

There was an urgency, still, in the back of Shiro’s head; a nebulous dark cloud of worry, but he could see he wasn’t going to be able to change Iverson’s mind. “Yes sir,” he said, and turned stiffly back towards the medbay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission to find Jedi Master Allura doesn't go as planned.

Shiro dreamed of blood and fire and sand, the stink of burning metal and burning flesh, the sound of his friends’ screams. He woke with a gasp, his blood pounding, and was on his feet before he fully realized what was going on.

He needed to be on that mission. Otherwise, it would end in disaster.

The stump of his right arm throbbed, painkillers having long-since worn off, and he felt barely rested at all, but Shiro dragged himself through the hallways from the infirmary to his quarters. He grabbed a flight suit from the closet and struggled into it. The right sleeve dangled loose, partially empty; he couldn’t tie it off one-handed.

Since he hadn’t attended the pre-mission briefing, Shiro wasn’t sure what gear he might need. He settled on whatever dried rations he had in his room stuffed into a bag, along with a full canteen, a hygiene kit, and a change of clothes. His regular blaster had too much of a kick for him to be able to fire it one-handed, so he tucked a smaller pistol into his holster.

For a mission like this, the team would assemble on the airfield, and the team leader would take a few minutes to check in with all the members before they boarded the transport ship. Shiro just hoped he wasn’t too late.

As it turned out, he made it just in time, reaching the edge of the tarmac just before the last distant figure disappeared up the ramp into the shuttle. Shiro waved his arm frantically, and the figure paused and then came back down towards him.

As he got closer, Shiro was able to make out enough detail to recognize Griffin. The admirals must have assigned Shiro’s team to this mission without him, and put Griffin in charge. It was a smart decision - Black Squadron was the best the Resistance had - but it made Shiro a little uneasy how quickly he was replaced.

The moment they were within shouting range, Griffin called, “What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”

Shiro waited until he got closer to reply, not wanting to waste what little breath he had on yelling, or make his lingering headache worse.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

Griffin frowned. “You were in some sort of coma for three days, and you only just woke up yesterday,” he said. “You can’t possibly be cleared for duty.”

Shiro shrugged. “Special permission from General Organa,” he lied. “I promised her I’d take it easy, but she agreed that it was important for me to go. You’re still mission commander, of course.”

Griffin looked like he wasn’t sure he believed Shiro, but he didn’t feel comfortable voicing his doubts aloud to his superior officer either. “You have her wrapped around your little finger,” he said eventually.

Shiro forced himself to grin. “I’m very likeable and persuasive,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Griffin said. “Poster boy for the Resistance.” He carefully avoided looking at Shiro’s empty sleeve, flapping a little in the breeze. “Well, in that case, Lieutenant,” he said, “You’re running late. I’ll let you off the hook just this once, but I expect punctuality in the future.”

Shiro snapped a salute and didn’t roll his eyes. It felt strange with his left hand, a little clumsy, and a little illicit, like he was deliberately flouting regulations. “Permission to come aboard?” he said.

“Permission granted,” Griffin said, and stood aside to let Shiro enter first.

Inside the shuttle, four heads came up to look at him with surprise. He thought he detected a note of relief in Keith’s face as well.

“Looks like Lieutenant Shirogane will be joining us in a support role,” Griffin announced, coming up behind Shiro and punching the hatch closed.

“You look horrible, sir,” Rizavi said with a grin. “Sit down before you fall down.”

Shiro did. He tried to make it look natural, and not like his knees gave out as he bent them.

“You are suffering from blood loss, traumatic amputation, and quintessence depletion,” Leifsdottir told him, blunt as ever. “You will almost certainly be a liability on this mission.”

“I won’t,” Shiro swore.

“Stormtroopers with far worse injuries are sent out to fight,” Keith put in. Everyone looked at him with horror.

“Yeah, well, that’s why we’re the good guys,” Griffin said, then added, “Nobody asked for your opinion anyway, _Keith_.”

Keith crossed his arms and looked away.

Shiro pinched his forehead at a sudden stab of pain. A rivalry between Griffin and Keith was the last thing this mission needed. “Is there a problem here?” he said.

“No, sir. No problem,” Griffin answered immediately. Keith just continued to glower at the emergency parachutes netted to the wall in front of him.

Into the awkward silence that fell, Leifsdottir announced, “Lieutenant Shirogane, I am glad you are onboard to diffuse interpersonal conflicts.”

“Yeah,” Rizavi added. “Your title can be ‘Official Babysitter.’”

“Such a promotion,” Shiro grumbled.

“That was always your unofficial title anyway,” Kinkade called from the pilot’s chair, where he was finishing up systems checks. “Ready to go here,” he added.

“Take us up,” Griffin ordered.

Kinkade did, keeping his takeoff and ascent smooth, with a minimum amount of jostling, which Shiro appreciated. As they entered hyperspace, everyone relaxed a little.

“Obviously, Lieutenant Shirogane already knows the plan because General Organa explained it when she gave him permission to join us,” Griffin said, eyeing Shiro, who kept his expression steady, “but let’s go over it again, just in case.”

When they got back, Shiro decided, the bottle of aged Corellian nectar at the back of his closet he’d been saving for a special occasion was going to Griffin.

“Right,” Rizavi said. “Yes. Good idea. So, Keith found documents that indicated that Jedi Master Allura was alive and located on Oriande. He also found Oriande’s coordinates, in the Patrulian Zone.”

Shiro kept himself from making a sound, but only barely. Oriande was as much a myth as Allura herself was - some said it was a planet, others said it was an entire realm, but everyone agreed that, if it ever truly existed, its location had been lost. Finding Oriande would be worth it even if it turned out Allura wasn’t really there; the land no doubt held immensely powerful artifacts that the Resistance could use or, at the very least, prevent the First Order from using.

“The journey will take 29.63 hours,” Leifsdottir said. “Once we arrive, we will scout the area for signs of enemy ships, and if we’re clear, we will land on Oriande. Griffin, Keith, and myself will retrieve the Jedi and any weapons we may find, and we will return to the Resistance. There are multiple contingency plans in place, should any of these steps fail, but I believe an outline of only the most likely failures will be sufficient.”

At a nod from Griffin, she continued, laying out how they anticipated dealing with the First Order, should they show up. An alarming number of their plans could be summed up as _hope we find something on Oriande that will save us_. Shiro just hoped that they wouldn’t have to use any of them.

“Of course, all of this assumes that Keith wasn’t lying about everything,” Griffin added.

“Why would I lie?” Keith demanded. This was clearly an argument they’d already had at least once before.

“To lure the Resistance’s best pilots into a trap,” Griffin suggested.

“Griffin!” Shiro said, staggering to his feet. “A word.”

Griffin snapped to attention. There wasn’t really anywhere they could go in the shuttle where they wouldn’t be overheard, but Shiro led him over to a corner, and Rizavi started talking loudly to Leifsdottir and Keith about nothing in particular.

“We all joined the Resistance for our own reasons,” Shiro said to Griffin. “I know what the First Order did to your planet. But you can’t be taking it out on Keith, not now. This mission is too important.”

Griffin was too disciplined to scowl at Shiro, but he was bad at hiding how much he wanted to.

“I trust him,” Shiro said. “He saved my life.”

“Yeah, and how many others has he taken?” Griffin countered. “Every time I look at him, all I can think about is whether or not he was there, whether he was the one that killed my sister, whether they all sat around and joked about it afterwards.”

“I know,” Shiro said quietly. “If I were in your place, I’m not sure if I’d be able to handle him being here either. But you’re in charge of this mission, and he’s under your command and therefore under your protection. Be suspicious of him if you need to. Be angry at him. But listen to his suggestions, and don’t attack him without provocation.”

“Yes sir,” Griffin said. He looked like he still wanted to argue, but held it in.

“Good.” Shiro made his way back over to the others, whose conversation trailed off when he came near. Griffin followed.

Shiro settled down again, and closed his eyes. He didn’t actually intend to sleep the whole trip, but his entire body still felt drained from his ordeal. The jumpseat was hard and narrow, though, and in spite of Shiro’s exhaustion and the effort Rizavi was making to keep her voice low, it was hard to get comfortable enough to drift off. He shifted position, and then again, and again. 

“Lieutenant,” Leifsdottir said eventually, and Shiro opened his eyes. “The copilot’s chair is open and much more comfortable,” she told him. “The quality of your rest would improve greatly if you were to sit in it.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro said reflexively, but she was right. He needed to rest as much as he could before they reached Oriande if he was going to be of any use, and that wasn’t going to happen back here. “I mean. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Shiro stumbled wearily to the front of the shuttle and sank down next to Kinkade, who looked at him and then did a double take. “Wow, Rizavi wasn’t kidding about how terrible you look,” he said.

“Thanks,” Shiro mumbled. Leifsdottir was right, the chair really was a lot more comfortable, and he was halfway to sleep within seconds.

He startled back awake at a touch to his empty right sleeve, and pulled the remains of his arm protectively towards his chest, bringing the other one up to guard. When no attack came, though, Shiro blinked a few times, and finally managed to focus his eyes on Kinkade, who was standing over him with hands still outstretched. He looked apologetic.

“Sorry,” Kinkade said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just thought… that sleeve looks like it’s gotta be irritating, swinging around when you move. I was going to tie it off for you.”

“Oh,” Shiro said. It had been, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with the embarrassment of asking Keith or his team to do it. His face felt red.

“Since you’re awake now, might as well change the bandage first. The shuttle is on autopilot, not to worry.”

Shiro made a face but didn’t object when Kinkade pulled out the emergency medical kit, gently peeled off Shiro’s bandage, applied an antibiotic ointment, and wrapped fresh gauze on. Then he tied off Shiro’s sleeve neatly below the elbow with rock-steady hands.

“Thank you,” Shiro said.

“Anytime,” Kinkade replied. “Now get some sleep.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Shiro smiled, and settled back.

***

Shiro woke up to a voice calling his name and a protein bar being shoved in his hand. He ate it, drank from his canteen, checked to make sure that nobody on the team had killed anyone else, then drifted off again. The next time they woke him, Rizavi added, “Time to get ready. We’re almost there.”

Already? Had Shiro slept for an entire day?

It was possible. He was feeling a lot better; whatever energy reserves he depleted during his ordeal seemed to be replenished. And he was starving. He demolished his protein bar, then contemplated another, but decided against it; better not to risk making himself sick.

Keith, Griffin, and Leifsdottir were buckling on vests and pulling on helmets in preparation for venturing out on Oriande. Shiro should be going with them. Griffin was good but still young, and if he and Keith started to fight again, Leifsdottir wouldn’t be able to keep them in line. The chances of Griffin agreeing to take Shiro were virtually nil, though, and any facade of authority Shiro possessed would vanish the moment Griffin refused.

“Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one, mark,” Kinkade announced. The shuttle jerked a little as they came out, and then Shiro was knocked hard against the wall as Kinkade threw them into a twisting dive to avoid debris directly ahead.

“What the hell?” Griffin murmured, coming to look out the forward viewscreen.

They were in a graveyard of dead ships, unburied and unmourned. Most were intact, still and lifeless, but some had succumbed to eons of cosmic radiation and disintegrated to fragments, drifting aimlessly.

There was no planet in sight.

Griffin turned on Keith. “I knew it,” he shouted. “It was all a trick. I bet the First Order are on their way, if they’re not already here waiting for us.”

But Keith looked just as stunned and confused as the rest of them. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “It should be here.”

Griffin barked an incredulous laugh. “Just give up this charade,” he said. “You’ve already accomplished your mission. Congratulations.”

“No, there was no mission,” Keith insisted. “I haven’t been lying to you.”

“What are you trying to do now, stall until they get here?”

Griffin clearly didn’t believe him, and the rest of the team seemed uncertain. Shiro had to admit, it looked like all of Griffin’s suspicions were coming true; but Keith’s reaction wasn’t faked, Shiro could tell. Griffin was inches away from pulling his blaster, and Keith would defend himself, and then the rest of the team would take him down and ruin any chance of salvaging this operation.

“Hey,” Shiro said, edging between Griffin and Keith. “Everybody calm down.”

“You’re still defending him?” Griffin cried.

“I’m making sure you don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t regret killing a stormtrooper,” Griffin said. 

“He’s not,” Shiro said. “Not anymore.”

“And for that we have only his word.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Kinkade said, “but I’m reading multiple bogies incoming. Short-range TIE fighters, about half a dozen.”

“Take them out,” Griffin ordered. He turned to Keith. “Even if the First Order gets us, at least you’ll get to watch your friends die before I kill you.”

“They’re not my friends,” Keith growled.

“Hey,” Kinkade said. “The TIE fighters are transmitting something.” He pushed a button and static blasted over the shuttle’s speakers.

“Turn it down!” Rizavi shouted, but Shiro barely heard her over the pounding in his head, renewed by the sound. It felt like it was getting worse every second, with every heartbeat. He cried out, clutching his head as the pain crested and spilled into every facet of his being.

Shiro blinked, and he had his left arm wrapped around someone with short spiky hair who was making noises and wiggling. Blinked again, and there was blood in his mouth, in his eyes. A third time, and he was on the floor, face-down, all his muscles tense. There was someone sitting on top of him, someone else holding his legs, and Shiro screamed and tried to get away, but he was held too tightly. He couldn’t breathe, it hurt too much, and when darkness clouded his vision he let himself fall away.

***

Everything was black, and Shiro was floating. As he looked around, pinpricks of light appeared around him, with thin tendrils connecting some of them. Stars and galaxies formed and burst apart as he watched, fascinated.

There was someone or something else here; Shiro could sense a massive presence somewhere behind him. He turned to find a gigantic semi-transparent white lion bounding towards him across the nothingness Shiro was standing on.

Shiro froze. There was nowhere to hide, and he couldn’t outrun the beast. There was nothing to do but wait for it to devour him.

But it didn’t. It stopped just before it would have bowled Shiro over and lowered its head to sniff at him, then nudged him a little with its nose. Shiro fell backwards, landing hard. It huffed, and Shiro got the distinct impression it was laughing at him.

He climbed back to his feet, and waved his left hand awkwardly. “Hi,” he said.

The lion purred.

“Where am I?” Shiro asked. The lion didn’t answer. Fair enough. Try yes or no questions.

“Am I dead?”

The lion snarled, showing its teeth. Shiro wasn’t actually sure if that was confirmation or not.

“Is there a reason why I’m here?” he tried, and abruptly he wasn’t standing in a field of stars but was instead in General Organa’s house on Chandrila.

There were voices coming from outside, which Shiro followed out to the garden behind the house, dread pooling in his gut.

Two dark-haired boys were playing catch beneath a shady tree. Shiro’s breath caught. One of them was _him_. The other was Ben.

What was this? It couldn’t be a memory; Shiro didn’t remember ever playing catch with Ben. He’d avoided Ben whenever possible, even before his parents had died, because the older boy was always rude to him and never played fair.

Sure enough, Ben was complaining. Little Takashi wasn’t throwing the ball hard enough, couldn’t aim, was making it impossible for Ben to catch without using the Force, which he wasn’t supposed to do without Uncle Luke there to supervise.

Ben hadn’t called Shiro by his first name in years, not since Shiro had moved into the Organa household, and Ben had felt a need to remind him constantly that he wasn’t welcome.

Takashi threw again, and missed badly. The ball bounced off the tree and back towards him, hitting Ben lightly on the back of the leg before rolling to a stop. 

Ben shrieked. “You did that on purpose, you kriffing piece of druk!”

“I’m sorry!” Takashi said. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, right,” Ben said. “I’ll show you an accident.” He picked the ball up, and threw it straight at Takashi’s head, harder than was possible without assistance from the Force.

Takashi threw his hands up to protect his face, but Shiro could see it wasn’t going to help. To his shock, though, the ball came to a halt less than an inch from Takashi’s face. It hovered for a moment, and then dropped to the ground.

Ben hadn’t stopped the ball; he looked just as surprised as Shiro felt. But who else could have done it?

As Shiro watched, Takashi held out a hand, his face full of wonder, and the ball floated up to rest in it.

None of this made any sense. It was impossible - _Shiro couldn’t use the Force_.

Ben screamed with rage so strong that both Takashi and Shiro took a step backwards, and then flung some sort of energy at Takashi, who crumpled to the ground.

“Everyone has always liked you better,” Ben shouted. Takashi looked up at him, but his expression was glazed, and Shiro didn’t think he was actually understanding anything Ben said.

“Using the Force is the only thing that makes my mom and Uncle Luke proud of me. You don’t get to do that too. I won’t let you take that away from me.”

Ben squeezed his fist, and Takashi cried out, wrapping his arms around his head. His heels dug into the soft dirt.

Shiro couldn’t watch anymore. He ran, back inside the house and then down hallway after hallway until they faded away and he was once more in the starry void. He came to a halt, panting, by the white lion’s paws.

“That wasn’t real,” Shiro said. “It can’t have been.” 

_But it was_ , the lion said, inside Shiro’s mind. He jumped, a little. It didn’t feel like what Ben had done, all slimy and invasive; instead the knowledge of what the lion wanted to say just appeared, bold and firm.

“Why don’t I remember any of that?” Shiro whispered, and the answer came right away. Ben had locked down Shiro’s Force abilities using blunt force and fury, but he’d done it badly. Shiro himself had finished the job, out of fear in equal parts of what Ben might do to him and what Shiro might be capable of with the same power. And then he’d hidden the memory away.

“You can’t just shut yourself off from the Force,” Shiro argued.

The lion agreed. It hadn’t worked, not completely. Shiro’s reflexes were faster than those of a normal human, and he always knew when a mission was going to go bad, even if he didn’t know why. He’d attributed it to survival skills, growing up around Ben, but it went deeper than that. Shiro was inextricably bound to the Force; it infused every cell of his body, bursting forth on occasion when Shiro’s guard was down, and it wouldn’t be denied.

Shiro shook his head. He didn’t want that power. He didn’t want to be like Ben.

He wasn’t like Ben - he was like Shiro, the lion replied. The Force was neither good nor bad, it just was. What mattered was what Shiro chose to do with it.

Put that way, it seemed so simple. Shiro still wanted to argue with the lion, but he could feel the power inside of himself now, and he had no idea how to make it go away again. So he needed to make a decision. How did he want to use it?

For the Resistance, of course. For his team, and for all the other soldiers he’d be able to save if he could learn to control his abilities. For General Organa.

The lion purred in approval.

“Okay,” Shiro said. “I understand. Now, how do I get out of here?”

All he needed to do was wake up. But… the lion snarled at a faint line of decay that traced its way through the stars. Shiro recognized it as Ben’s handiwork.

“What did he do?” Shiro asked. “What did _I_ do?”

Faint memories trickled in. The static had triggered something that Ben had left in Shiro’s head, hidden beneath his final parting command. Shiro had lunged at Kinkade and gotten him in a chokehold before the others realized what was going on. They had been slow to react, unwilling to believe that Shiro was compromised, and even once they’d fought back, they pulled their punches.

All except for Keith, who fought with desperate fury and a blade he produced from nowhere. Keith managed to knock Shiro down and pin him there, with help from Griffin, until Shiro passed out.

Well, sithspit.

The lion roared, so loudly that Shiro was knocked backwards. It kept roaring, more and more intense, until even the stars started to shake from the force of the sound. Shiro managed to turn his head to watch as the trail of darkness was blown away, no match for the lion’s strength, and then he was falling, falling, until he landed with a jerk in his body.

It felt almost claustrophobic for a brief moment, but then Shiro could feel his senses expanding, far beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. He brushed the minds of his team in the shuttle and then kept going, to the TIE fighter debris that had joined the rest of the dead ships in this graveyard, and even further, to a hidden point of light. Shiro swallowed, and let the movement of the muscles and the feeling of liquid running down his throat ground himself in his body.

Keith was still sitting on Shiro, which meant that he couldn’t have been out for very long. Shiro forced his body to stay loose, and called, “It’s okay. It’s over.”

“You’ll forgive us if we don’t take your word about that,” Griffin answered from somewhere behind him. Shiro couldn’t blame him, not after what he’d just done, although Keith was heavier than he looked, and Shiro could feel his spine grating.

“Is Kinkade okay?” he asked.

“He has severe bruising on his neck, and was unconscious for 1.3 minutes due to lack of blood flow to the brain,” Leifsdottir said.

“He’ll live,” Rizavi summarized, then added, “What the hell, Lieutenant?”

“Keith wasn’t the trap, at least not intentionally. I was,” Shiro said. “Ben planted something in my head before I escaped. It’s gone, now, though. You can let me up.”

“...Right,” Griffin said. But he must have nodded, because after a moment, Keith’s weight eased off of Shiro’s back, and Shiro pushed himself up to sit slowly. It seemed that Griffin and Keith were finally getting along, no doubt thanks to Keith saving Kinkade’s life, so at least something good came of Shiro’s attack.

Rizavi was standing way back with a blaster trained on him, and when Keith circled around, Shiro saw that his knife was still out as well. Shiro’s own blaster was lying on the floor, too far away for him to reach.

“It’s set to stun,” Rizavi told him, “But if you try anything, I can make you hurt.”

“I won’t,” Shiro promised. “I take it you guys managed to deal with the TIE fighters.”

“No thanks to you,” Rizavi said. Shiro winced. 

“More will be coming,” Leifsdottir said. “We should inform the Resistance that our mission has failed, and return to base.”

The bright point of light flared in Shiro’s mind. “No,” he said. “I have to go to Oriande.”

“Uh, Lieutenant,” Rizavi said, “Oriande’s not here.”

“It is,” Shiro insisted. “It’s just hidden. I met the guardian, I think.”

“You met the guardian,” Griffin repeated. “When, exactly?”

“Just now, when I was unconscious,” Shiro said. 

“You do realize how that sounds,” Griffin said.

“I do,” Shiro acknowledged. “But it’s true.”

“Assuming you are, in fact, not suffering from a delusion due to traumatic brain injury,” Leifsdottir said, “How do we get there?”

“You don’t. I do.” Shiro took a breath, and glanced at Keith. “Getting to Oriande is only possible for someone who can use the Force.”

Shiro doubted that stormtroopers were taught the phrase, “I told you so,” but Keith was radiating smug satisfaction.

The rest of his team just looked even more bewildered. “Since when can you use the Force?” Rizavi shouted, and almost threw her hands up in the air before remembering the blaster in them.

“It’s complicated,” Shiro said. He owed them a better explanation than that, he knew, but the knowledge of what Ben had done to him was still too raw; and besides, they didn’t have much time before the First Order sent reinforcements.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, and closed his eyes, focusing on that bright spark in the distance. He reached out his hand to cup it and bring it closer, and could feel the lion’s purr rattle his bones as the light expanded, and sucked him inside.

***

Shiro opened his eyes to a wonderland of crystalline islands, floating weightless in the air. Directly in front of him, on the largest island, was a pyramid tall enough to touch the sky. Above its heavy stone entranceway a curved set of wings was depicted, with a glowing star between them. The old symbol of the Jedi order - Shiro recognized it from stories he’d heard as a child.

He was barely aware of his feet moving, but before he knew it, he was inside the building and staring in awe at row after row of print books, holobooks, and data-tapes. He even thought he spied a few holocrons in the distance.

It was a library. A Jedi library, hidden away and lost, until now.

There was information here that could teach Shiro how to control his powers. If he searched long enough, he could probably find a way to take down the First Order in one fell swoop. But there wasn’t time for that, not when more First Order ships could show up any minute to blast his team to pieces.

Shiro needed to find Allura.

He tried to reach out with his mind and… couldn’t. His senses, which had been so open just a few moments ago, had shut themselves down, and he had no idea how to re-activate them.

The library was enormous. It would take hours for him to search every room. What he really needed was some kind of scanner...

Shiro imagined himself sitting in his X-wing. The largest screen in front of him showed altitude and pitch; next to that were gauges for velocity, fuel level, and engine temperature. And below all of those, his radar. 

He watched the radar make a sweep, then another, until finally it got a hit on the third pass. Shiro gripped the yoke and opened the throttle, speeding towards the distant blip. Once he got close, he eased off, and touched down gently next to it.

He let the X-wing fade away, and then turned slowly in a circle. The rows of shelves had been replaced by rows of desks, each with its own lamp and storage space. All were empty but one.

A young woman with dark skin, pure white hair, pink facial markings, and a pile of texts taller than she was looked up at Shiro’s appearance. She wore robes similar to Master Luke’s usual attire, and a lightsaber hung from her belt. Shiro realized he was staring, and looked away, embarrassed.

“Are you Jedi Master Allura?” he said.

“I am,” she replied with a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“My name is Shiro,” Shiro said. “And no, we haven’t. But I’m very glad I’ve found you.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What can I do for you?”

Shiro considered his answer. Allura looked like she hadn’t aged a day since she came to Oriande sixty years ago. It was possible that she was from a long-lived species, but it didn’t seem like she was hiding here; more like time had failed to pass in this tiny corner of the universe.

If that was the case, then she wouldn’t be aware of anything that had happened since she arrived. The rise and fall of the Empire, the destruction of the Jedi Order. The desperate bravery of the Rebel Alliance and the Resistance. The atrocities committed by the First Order, and the threat it posed to every living being.

“You can save the universe,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm not going to write the mission. The fic is going to end after Shiro escapes the First Order.  
> Me: Really, I already wrote the part I wanted to write.  
> Me: ... goddamnit, there's no good place to end this. I'm going to have to write the mission, aren't I?  
> alyyks: I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT, I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR YOU!
> 
> Seriously, credit for all the best lines goes to her :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has found Jedi Master Allura - now, he just needs to convince her to help him.

“Saving the universe sounds like a difficult task for a single person,” Allura said calmly. “May I ask what it needs saving from?”

How was Shiro supposed to describe the First Order to someone who didn’t even know about Darth Vader? “It’s a long story,” he said. “And we don’t have much time.” 

“Then show me,” she said.

“What?”

She motioned at him. “I can look at your memories. It will be faster than you explaining the situation to me.”

Shiro’s first reaction was a reflexive _no_. He’d only just gotten free from Ben’s compulsion - the idea of letting anyone else inside his head felt utterly repulsive. Not to mention, there were things he didn’t want her to see - embarrassing childhood memories, yes, but also she didn’t need to know what it felt like to be surrounded by enemies while strapped to a table, or the lightheadedness of days without food when supplies were running low.

But he knew she couldn’t possibly believe him otherwise. And if letting her do this would convince her to help, it would be worth it. Anything for the Resistance, he told himself.

“Okay,” he said, and forced himself to stay still when she rose gracefully and moved close enough to place her hands on his forehead.

He felt it when their minds met, and nearly recoiled, but she didn’t try to push her way inside, just waited for him to get used to the sensation. She radiated concern, and he got the sense that, in the past, the people she’d done this to hadn’t been nearly so skittish.

Shiro took a breath. He thought about the crystal cliffs on Chandrila, and let the dancing lights reflecting off of them calm him. He nodded.

The first memory she touched was of those cliffs, and he could feel her delight. But that wasn’t what she was there for. He pulled up a memory of a Resistance briefing from shortly after its formation, in which Admiral Ackbar gave a brief outline of recent atrocities the First Order had committed, and then vowed to oppose everything they stood for.

Allura was confused - how could so much have changed in the single day she’d spent on Oriande?

_It wasn’t just a day_ , he answered, and recalled sitting in history classes as a boy, listening to lecturers drone on and on about the old Republic and its ruination. Shiro had always found the politics boring. He much preferred learning about the heroism of the Rebel Alliance and their fight against the evil Empire.

But Allura was listening with growing shock and horror. She fished around until she came to the beautiful spring day on which Shiro’s teacher had told the class about the destruction of the Jedi Order.

The wave of anguish that poured into Shiro was immense and profound, heart-stopping in its intensity. Her entire universe, the only family she’d ever known, wiped out in minutes. He gasped and tried to pull away, but she was holding on too tightly, her fingers digging into his skin and her mind deep within his. 

Allura wasn’t being careful anymore, knocking into memories Shiro had long avoided thinking about. Sitting in an administrator’s office, absently kicking his feet against his chair as the administrator gently explained to him that his parents had been in an accident, and weren’t coming to pick him up from school today or ever again. Trailing behind Senator Organa as she led him up the stairs to a spare bedroom, clutching his backpack so tightly his hands went numb, and only vaguely listening as she told him that she’d always promised his parents that she’d take care of him if anything happened to them. The funeral, where the surviving members of their Rebel squadron lit the pyre, and he cringed at the sonic boom from the flyover salute.

Shiro’s pain resonated with Allura’s and grew, a feedback loop of grief, until it almost overwhelmed him. In desperation, he grabbed a memory and threw it at her, hoping it would startle her loose.

Senator Organa, her own eyes red, clinging to Shiro when he woke screaming from a nightmare. He’d usually been careful to cover his head with a pillow when he slept, not wanting to wake her or Ben, but she wasn’t angry that he did this time, just held him as they mourned quietly together.

He pulled out another one. Senator Organa’s proud smile as Shiro graduated from his lower academy and announced that he wanted to go to flight school. Her relief when he returned safe from his first mission for the Resistance, and the next and the next. The darkness in her eyes when he woke up in the infirmary after his fourth, even though he thought a mild concussion, some broken ribs, and a streak of white in his bangs were a small price to pay for keeping his team safe.

Slowly, slowly, Shiro felt himself pierce through Allura’s anguish, until finally she was aware of what she was doing. She stroked a memory of Senator Organa and Shiro covered head to toe in flour and berry juice after a failed attempt to bake a birthday cake for Master Luke, and then hurriedly detangled her mind from his and stepped back.

Shiro fell to his knees and waited for pieces of his life to stop flashing in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Allura said after a moment, her voice rough. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Shiro said. “I know it was a lot.” He let his head hang for a moment as he gathered himself, then stood up, a little shaky. His sleeve had come untied at some point either during the fight with Keith or while he’d been struggling to get away from Allura. It was a minor discomfort compared to everything else, but it was bothering him now.

“Will you help us?” Shiro asked her.

“I…” she said. “I need some time to meditate on what I’ve just learned.”

“I don’t think we have any. The First Order could show up any minute,” he said. “Can I at least offer you a ride while you think things over?”

“I would appreciate that,” she said, and moved to start gathering her belongings when a dark chill stole its way through Shiro’s senses. He was already whirling around by the time a loud bang echoed through the library, accompanied by a gust of displaced air that sent Allura’s books toppling to the floor.

It was Ben. Fully masked, his lightsaber already out, humming and sparking.

Shiro moved automatically to stand between them, looking around desperately for anything he could use as a weapon or a shield. The desk lamps wouldn’t stand up to more than a single slice from Ben’s lightsaber, but Shiro picked one up anyway.

“Run, Master Allura,” he called. Shiro had no illusions that he’d be able to buy her more than a few seconds, but he hoped that would be enough.

Ben just laughed, the sound eerily amplified by his mask. “Why would she?” he said. “I can feel her rage. Meditation won’t help, only revenge. So go on,” he said to her. “Strike me down. My grandfather is responsible for the destruction of everything you’ve ever known, and I follow in his footsteps.”

Now there was a hum from behind Shiro as well; Allura had drawn her lightsaber. Ben was right - Shiro could practically feel the anger radiating from her in waves. 

Shiro didn’t move.

“Don’t do it,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” Allura snapped. “Isn’t this exactly what you came to me for? He’s a Sith and I’m a Jedi, and it’s my responsibility to put him down like a rabid dog.”

Ben twirled his lightsaber in anticipation.

“Listen to yourself,” Shiro said. “Do you sound like a Jedi right now?” He took a chance and glanced over his shoulder to see her in a deep battle stance, her brilliant blue lightsaber illuminating the snarl on her face. 

“I know how much it hurts,” he said. She had seen enough in his head to know he wasn’t lying. “But this won’t help. It’s what he wants.”

“I would be doing the universe a favor getting rid of him.”

“Maybe,” Shiro said. “But he’s the son of General Organa, and she still loves him more than anything in the universe. She took me in when I had no one, gave me a family again when I had nothing. And if I let you kill Ben, I will never be able to look her in the eyes again.”

“As if she would want to see you anyway,” Ben scoffed. “Look at you. Can’t fly, can’t fight. You’re useless to her.”

“I can use the Force,” Shiro said, and he really wished he could have seen Ben’s expression then, but he had to settle for the satisfaction of watching Ben take a stumbling step backwards. “I know what you did to me, and I know what I did to myself. And even if Master Luke isn’t around to teach me how to control it, there’s a whole library here that can.”

Ben let out a wordless snarl and charged at Shiro, only to be blasted backwards by a wave of energy that came from behind Shiro and parted neatly around him. Ben hit the far wall with a grunt, and slid down, vocal distorter amplifying his wheezing. His lightsaber clattered to the ground nearby.

“You may have recently rediscovered your Force abilities,” Allura told Shiro, once again icy calm, “but that doesn’t mean you’re ready to fight with them yet.” There was a whoosh as she turned off her own lightsaber.

Ben tried to get to his feet, but a wave of Allura’s hand collapsed him back to the ground. She moved closer, although she didn’t try to get around Shiro.

“I can’t imagine why General Organa would care about what happens to this pathetic excuse for a child, when she has you,” Allura told Shiro. “But I’ve seen how much she means to you. And besides,” her voice trembled for a moment before she pulled herself under control, “I think there’s been enough loss for one day.”

“Thank you,” Shiro breathed.

“The Special Collections in the library on Oriande contains a number of interesting artifacts,” Allura continued, and held out a hand, palm up, as something shimmered into existence just in front of her. “Including Force-nullifying handcuffs from the Great Sith War.”

She had summoned the entire display case. Allura set it down on the floor and carefully lowered the security field around the cuffs, then picked them up gingerly. Shiro didn’t try to stop her when she walked past him and over to Ben, still lying on the ground.

As she bent over to snap the cuffs in place, Ben twisted and kicked. She evaded his attack, but it put her off-balance, and when the tips of Ben’s fingers began to crackle with energy, she was too close to duck out of the way. But, at the last second, Ben changed his aim.

Shiro was engulfed in a storm of lightning. It was agonizing, every nerve ending firing and burning, and he thought he was screaming but he couldn’t tell.

He was going to die. The thought occurred to him briefly before being swept away by the pain, but he realized that he didn’t mind. By choosing to take one last petty act of revenge against Shiro instead of attacking the far more dangerous Jedi, Ben had sealed his own fate. 

And then the lightning was gone. Shiro lay on the ground, gasping, his muscles still twitching, and his throat raw. Allura was standing over a handcuffed Ben, looking down at him thoughtfully. Her lightsaber hummed in her hands.

Shiro tried to drag himself over, but couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate beyond stretching out his hand. The bridge of his nose felt like it was still on fire. “Don’t,” he whispered.

Allura glanced at him. “Are you sure?” she said. “He has spent his whole life tormenting you, and I sense no remorse from him. If he ever gets free, he will make you suffer.”

Shiro shook his head, a rough jerk. “He won’t,” Shiro said. “I won’t let him.”

Allura sighed. “Very well,” she said, and put away her lightsaber so she could haul Ben up over one shoulder, and Shiro on the other. “I suppose we had best get to your shuttle.”

***

Their appearance onboard the shuttle was accompanied by a great deal of shouting. From the sound of it, the shouting had probably been ongoing since Shiro vanished.

Allura bent to put Shiro down gently, and he sagged against the wall and watched the commotion through eyes that were too heavy to keep more than half-open. So far, it seemed, the shouting hadn’t progressed to attempted murder, which was a relief. If it did, he was pretty sure he trusted Allura to take care of it.

A tiny spark warned Shiro a moment before Leifsdottir knelt in front of Shiro and grabbed his chin to examine his face and singed hair. He let her do it, only wincing a little when she ran her hands over a bump on his head he must have gotten when he fell.

“You look lightly fried,” she told him. “And you need medical treatment for a burn on your nose.”

“Mm,” he said.

“I think we can assume, based on the presence and current status of both Kylo Ren and Jedi Master Allura, that you are not currently under the control of any outside forces. However, I will be monitoring you for signs of unusual behavior.”

He nodded, too tired to answer.

To his left, Keith had drawn his sword and was stalking towards Ben. Allura intercepted, and the shouting intensified again, but Shiro couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and let himself slip into an uncomfortable doze.

He came out of it at the shuddering of a craft hitting atmo. A quick look around the cabin revealed Kinkade stretched out next to him, and Rizavi tapping idly on a datapad that was emitting quiet tinny music. Ben was sitting against the far wall, still cuffed and glaring at everyone; someone had removed his helmet and stuck a piece of tape over his mouth. Keith and Allura were standing guard over him. 

“Everything good?” Shiro asked.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Rizavi said with a yawn. “You missed a whole bunch of monologuing and some hilariously pathetic threats, but yeah. All good now.”

The shuttle landed with nothing more than a slight bump, thanks to the piloting of Griffin and Leifsdottir, who emerged from the cockpit as the ramp lowered. Shiro tried to stand, and Griffin immediately rushed over to help him up. He accepted with quiet thanks, keeping his arm around Griffin’s shoulders as they descended onto the bright strip of runway.

General Organa was there on the tarmac, as were half a dozen other Resistance leaders. As the rest of the team followed, Shiro gently eased himself away from Griffin so that he was standing on his own.

Allura and Keith were the last ones out, escorting Ben.

There were gasps from the assembled leaders, and General Organa rushed forwards to grasp Ben’s shoulders, smooth a hand through his sweaty hair, and brush his cheeks. Then she turned to Shiro, sweeping him up into a hug that almost knocked him off his feet.

“You brought him home” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Shiro swallowed, and didn’t answer. This wasn’t Ben’s home, and it never had been. It belonged to General Organa and to the Resistance that she had built.

After a moment, she pulled back, but kept a steadying hand on his arm. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the fact that you snuck onto this mission without permission,” she added. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re not, and there will be consequences. But for now, let’s get you back to the infirmary. You look even worse than you did when you left.”

She gave a slight tug on his arm, but Shiro resisted.

“You don’t need to take me,” he said. “Don’t you want to stay with Ben?”

“Yes and no,” she admitted. “I want to hold him and never let go, and I also want to smack him silly for what he’s done to all of us. But most of all, right now, I want to make sure that you are resting and healing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Shiro said. “I don’t need an escort.”

“That would be more convincing if you weren’t leaning on me quite so much,” General Organa pointed out, and held him tighter when he immediately tried to straighten up. “Let me do this for you, Takashi,” she said. “Let me see with my own eyes that you’re safe.”

All he could do was nod and let her lead him away. He refused to break down again, not in front of everyone, but when she wrapped an arm around him, he let out a shuddering breath and leaned into her further.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue(s)

This time, Shiro was pretty sure that General Organa deputized his team to keep a guard on him so he wouldn’t sneak out. She needn’t have bothered - there was no reason for him to go anywhere - but he appreciated the company, and they kept him updated about what was going on outside of the infirmary. The First Order hadn’t crumpled at the loss of its leader; there were too many high-ranking generals desperate to hold onto their power, not to mention the shadowy figure that had recruited Kylo Ren in the first place. It was significantly weakened, though, and plans were already being put into place to take advantage of the chaos.

“But you’re not going to be part of those plans,” Kinkade told Shiro firmly. Shiro raised his hand in acquiescence. He was feeling much better after several days of enforced bed rest and bacta treatments, although the stump of his right arm still throbbed, and the medics had told him that the burn on his nose was going to scar.

“You’re officially cleared for duty now?” he asked.

“Good to go. You did a bad job of trying to strangle me.”

“I’m glad,” Shiro said, making a point of meeting Kinkade’s eyes. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Man, that’s like the tenth time you’ve apologized to me. It’s Kylo Ren’s fault not yours, I know that, it’s fine.”

Shiro nodded and didn’t point out that Kinkade hadn’t come within arm’s reach of him during any of his visits.

Rizavi, on the other hand, had no qualms about climbing onto Shiro’s cot while playing games on her tablet, claiming it was far more comfortable than any of the scattered chairs.

“I still think we should have killed Kylo Ren,” she said. “General Organa would have gotten over it eventually.”

Shiro huffed a laugh. “I’d like to see you suggest that to her face.”

She had a point, though. The Resistance wasn’t equipped to hold prisoners long-term, lacking any extra supplies or even a permanent base. Ben would have to be evacuated every time the First Order caught up with them and forced them to flee. Not to mention how dangerous he was; there was always the chance that Ben could figure out a way out of the Force-nullifying cuffs and attack.

General Calrissian had suggested carbonite as an alternative, at least until they had a secure-enough location to put Ben, and General Organa had reluctantly agreed. Shiro hadn’t gotten to see Ben again before they had frozen him, and he wasn’t sure if he cared. He didn’t think he had anything left to say to Ben, and he certainly didn’t want to hear anything Ben might say to him.

Rizavi stuck her tongue out at Shiro and went back to her game. 

“I agree with Rizavi,” Griffin said as he strolled in and offered Shiro a cushnip, which Shiro took gratefully, biting into the still-warm bread. Infirmary food was even worse than what they served in the mess hall.

“As do I,” Leifsdottir said, right behind Griffin. 

“Not worth it,” Shiro said. He paused. “I assume you’ve all read my official report, but I owe you an explanation of what happened. So if you have any questions, now would be a good time to ask, while I’m still stuck in bed and not falling asleep in the middle of sentences anymore.”

“I have several,” Leifsdottir said, and began a rapid-fire interrogation, with the others periodically chiming in with questions of their own. Shiro steeled himself and answered.

When it was over, and his team was filing out, Shiro called out to Griffin, “Hey, one thing?”

“Yes sir?” Griffin said, pausing at the doorway.

“You did a good job on the mission,” Shiro said. “I know it was hard for you having Keith there, and having me there breathing over your shoulder, but nobody died, and for the most part, you made good calls with the information that was available to you.”

“I almost ruined everything,” Griffin protested.

“But you didn’t,” Shiro said. “When it really mattered, you were able to let go of your grudge and work with Keith to do what needed to be done.

“The whole team is going to be getting distinguished service medals, but I spoke to General Organa specifically about a promotion for you. So, congratulations soon-to-be-Lieutenant Griffin. The team is yours.”

“I… what?” Griffin said. “But what about you?”

“I’m off active duty until further notice,” Shiro grimaced. “Turns out, the admirals don’t like the idea of having a pilot who can’t fly in charge of a flight team.”

“There must be something...” Griffin said, but Shiro cut him off.

“I know you’ll take care of them,” he said. “And you’ll make me proud.”

“I will,” Griffin swore. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now go celebrate,” Shiro said. “You’ve earned it.”

“Yes sir,” Griffin said, and hurried out the door. Shiro leaned back with a sigh. 

***

Keith waited until the team had left before coming to visit. “Wanted me all to yourself?” Shiro asked with a grin, and enjoyed watching Keith flush.

“No,” he denied. “I just. They tolerated me on the mission because they had to. Doesn’t mean they want to spend time with me now.”

Shiro shrugged. “You might be surprised. So what have you been up to besides avoiding Black Squadron?” 

“Lots of meetings. I never really knew much about things like troop movements or supply lines, and they’ll have changed the codes to any facilities I had access to by now, but I could tell the admirals about things like the stormtrooper training process and new TIE fighter specs.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it.”

Keith made a face. “Mostly they just look disappointed that I can’t give them anything useful.”

“Hey, the location of Jedi Master Allura was plenty useful if you ask me,” Shiro said. “Speaking of which. That was a hell of a first mission for the Resistance. Have you thought about what you want to do next?”

Keith looked down. “It was a trap, though,” he said. “I thought I was helping, but everyone almost died because of me. Maybe I’d be better off leaving, going somewhere I can’t do any damage.”

Shiro gaped at him. “Are you kidding?” he said. “I was just as much a trap as you were. And if it wasn’t for you, Kinkade would be dead, and probably the rest of the team too.“ He shifted, trying to forget the feeling of Ben’s dark tendrils inside his head.

“If you want to go, nobody is going to stop you,” he continued. “But if something’s going to drive you away, don’t let it be _Ben_.”

Keith’s mouth twisted in an expression Shiro couldn’t parse. “What do you think I should do, then?”

“Stay,” Shiro said immediately. “You’re an incredible pilot, Keith; we could use you. Especially since we’re one short, now.”

“You didn’t need an arm to divert that laser beam when we were escaping from Kylo Ren’s ship,” Keith countered. “Why do you need it to fly?”

“That was different. I just reacted.” 

It was still a shock every time Shiro thought about the Force. A lifetime of denial wasn’t an easy habit to break, even when he could feel the entire world around him in a new way. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with it, although now that Keith had planted the idea of flying, it certainly was tempting.

“I bet Master Allura could teach you,” Keith said. “Now that you know you really can use the Force.”

Shiro could feel his cheeks redden. “I owe you an apology about that,” he said. “You kept telling me that I’d used the Force, and I didn’t want to listen to you.”

Keith just stared at him. Shiro wondered if he actually knew what an apology was.

“Next time, I promise I’ll listen,” Shiro said, and finally, Keith gave a gruff nod. “So that means you’ll stay?”

“For now,” Keith said. “By the way, I heard about Griffin’s promotion. I guess that means you’re going to need a new team?”

Maybe he would. Shiro needed more time to think, didn’t even want to get his hopes up without first talking to Master Allura. But there was one thing he knew for sure. “If I do, I’d love to have you,” he said.

***

The medics eventually released Shiro from the infirmary, with strict instructions to continue to rest and avoid strenuous activity. Shiro took the opportunity to catch up on all the paperwork he’d missed.

He was sitting at his desk going over pilot shift schedules when there was a knock at his door.

Shiro yawned and shoved his datapad away. “Come in,” he called, and then shot to his feet when General Organa poked her head in.

“Do you have a moment?” she said.

“Of course.”

She entered the rest of the way, and rolled her eyes at Shiro, still standing stiff at attention. “Sit down, Takashi,” she said.

Shiro only had one chair in his room, so he perched on the edge of his bed instead. To his surprise, instead of taking the chair, General Organa sat down next to him, close enough to touch even though she kept her hands folded on her lap.

“Master Allura told me you’d asked her to teach you how to use the Force,” she said.

“She said I need to wait a bit longer, until I’m fully recovered,” Shiro said. “But yes, she’s willing. Once I learn the basics, like moving things around, I should be able to get back in the fight.”

General Organa frowned. “Is that why you want to learn?” she said.

“What?”

“This is an ability that you have naturally, that was hidden away from you and then returned. I understand if you want to explore this new part of yourself, even though I never did. But I have to know, did you ask Master Allura for lessons because you wanted to? Or because you thought the Resistance needed you to?”

“Both?” Shiro said, unsure why she was asking. “I’m interested in finding out what I can do, but of course my priority is the Resistance. I can’t fly or fight the way I used to, but I may be able to learn to use the Force to do those things instead.”

Instead of having the reassuring effect he’d hoped for, his words made General Organa look even more upset.

“Takashi,” she sighed. “It doesn’t matter if you can fly or fight. Not to me. What matters is that you’re happy.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Shiro said, thoroughly confused. “I want to help.”

“I know you do,” General Organa said. “You always have, and I appreciate it. But there are other ways you could contribute if you wanted to, or you could just take a break, and that would be fine as well”. 

Shiro tried to imagine himself sitting at a desk while his friends flew out and put their lives on the line, and immediately recoiled from the image. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about sitting in the rec room instead. But clearly this was important to General Organa.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t do it?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I’m not trying to talk you out of this; the decision is yours. But it is a big one, and I want to make sure that you’re choosing for the right reasons. And I need you to know...” she reached out to rest a warm hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “I love you no matter what. I never showed it as much as I should have, I know that. I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to replace your mother - no one could, and it would be disrespectful to try. It’s too late for me to fix anything with Ben, but I hope, well, maybe it’s not too late to fix things with you.”

For a long moment, Shiro could do nothing but stare at her. That was everything he’d longed to hear since he was nine years old, and at the same time wholly inadequate. He wanted to tell her that he was fine, nothing to fix; but he also wanted to scream that she should have noticed the way Ben bullied him as a child. That if she had put a stop to it when Shiro was nine, then maybe he wouldn’t have lost his arm or his Force abilities at all.

Instead, he reached up to squeeze her hand tightly. “I love you too,” he said, and that was really what mattered.

***

Six months after being officially cleared to fly combat again, Shiro still felt a thrill being up in the air. There really was no other feeling like skimming over the tops of clouds, and occasionally dipping to catch one on the tip of a wing.

Shiro glanced at his altimeter. Twenty eight thousand feet and climbing. Almost high enough for the maneuver he had planned. “Lance, Keith, dive right; Pidge, Hunk, dive left. Criss-cross in the pattern we discussed. On my mark,” he ordered, and one by one they acknowledged.

“Mark,” he said, and watched his team strafe the targets they’d set up on the ground. Pidge was still getting too close to Hunk, and Keith had to throw his ship into a barrel roll to avoid one of Lance’s shots, but they completed the run.

“Good job,” Shiro said, “but next time, loosen up. Stay in formation, be aware of the terrain and of each other, but your distance can be a little more elastic. Let’s try it again.”

There was a chorus of groans over the comms, but they all pulled around and got back into position. Shiro pulled up on the stick with his left hand, and nudged the throttle forward with a tap from the Force to give the engine a little more fuel.

He was immensely proud of the progress his new team was making. Keith, who refused to be assigned to any other flight-captain; Lance, who voluntarily demoted himself while declaring that it had always been his dream to fly with Shiro; and the Pidge-and-Hunk combo, who had modified Shiro’s X-wing to make it more accessible and maximize the number of controls he could use his left hand for, and then honed their piloting skills so that they could be there with him in case anything broke.

“Same thing again,” Shiro said. “Mark.”

This time, Pidge hung back and gave Hunk the breathing space he needed to hit his targets, and Lance was more careful about who was in the way when he was shooting.

“Much better!” Shiro said. “Think about how that felt, and about where you were at each stage of the run, and you’ll be able to do it again next time. But for now, it’s time for a break.”

“Race you all to the hangar,” Lance called, and shot off without waiting for anyone to respond. Keith and Pidge dove after him immediately, while Hunk and Shiro followed at a much more reasonable speed.

Shiro was the last one down, reluctant as ever to leave the sky and the stars. The rest of his team was already gathered by the hangar entrance by the time he joined them, and Keith gave him a knowing look. “You’ll go again,” he said.

“I know I will,” Shiro replied with a smile. He let Pidge grab his hand and drag him off to the mess hall, the others following close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 16k words just so that Shiro could fly using the Force, oh my god. 
> 
> I will leave you with this interaction between me and my brother
> 
> Me: If you had a Sith and you couldn't keep him prisoner long-term but you also couldn't kill him, what would you do?  
> Brother: Join him.  
> Me: ...


End file.
